The Husband’s Secret

vanished beneath it.
    The sounds were small. A thump. A crunch. The long thin squeal of brakes.
    And then silence. Ordinariness. The sound of a bird.
    Cecilia didn’t feel anything except confusion. What just happened?
    She heard heavy footsteps and turned to see John-Paul running. He ran straight past her. Esther was screaming. Over and over. A shocking, ugly sound. Cecilia thought, Stop it Esther .
    Isabel grabbed Cecilia’s arm. ‘The car hit her!’
    A chasm cracked open in her chest.
    She shook Isabel’s hand free and ran.

    A little girl. A little girl on a bike.
    Rachel’s hands were still on the steering wheel. Her foot was still pressed hard on the brake pedal. It was compressed all the way to the floor of the car.
    Slowly, painstakingly, she lifted her trembling hand from the steering wheel and wrenched on the handbrake. She placed her left hand back on the steering wheel and used her right hand to turn off the ignition. Then she cautiously lifted her foot from the brake pedal.
    She looked in the rear-vision mirror. Maybe the little girl was all right.
    (Except she’d felt it. The soft speed-hump beneath her wheels. She knew with perfect sick certainty what she’d done. What she’d deliberately done.)
    She could see a woman running, her arms dangling oddly from her body, as if they were paralysed. It was Cecilia Fitzpatrick.
    Little girl. Pink sparkly helmet. Black ponytail. Brake. Brake. Brake . Her face in profile. The girl was Polly Fitzpatrick. Gorgeous little Polly Fitzpatrick.
    Rachel whimpered like a dog. Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming over and over.

    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Will?’
    Liam had kept asking when his dad was arriving and Tess had felt all at once infuriated by her impassive role, waiting for Felicity and Will to make their scheduled appearances. She’d called Will on his mobile. She was going to be icy and controlled and give him his first inkling of the almighty task that lay ahead of him.
    ‘Tess,’ said Will. He sounded distracted and strange.
    ‘According to Felicity, you’re on your way over here –’
    ‘I am,’ interrupted Will. ‘I was. In a taxi. We had to stop. There was an accident just around the corner from your mum’s place. I saw it happen. We’re waiting for an ambulance.’ His voice broke, then became muffled. ‘It’s terrible, Tess. Little girl on a bike. About the same age as Liam. I think she’s dead.’

easter saturday

chapter forty-nine
    The doctor reminded Cecilia of a priest or a politician. He specialised in professional compassion. His eyes were warm and sympathetic, and he spoke slowly and clearly, authoritatively and patiently, as if Cecilia and John-Paul were his students and he needed them to fully understand a tricky concept. Cecilia wanted to throw herself at his feet and hug his knees. As far as she was concerned, this man had absolute power. He was God. This man, this softly spoken, bespectacled Asian man in a blue and white striped shirt that was very similar to one John-Paul owned, was God.
    Throughout the previous day and night there had been so many people talking at them: the paramedics, the doctors and nurses in the emergency department. Everyone had been nice, but rushed and tired, their eyes slipping and sliding. There was noise and bright white lights constantly shining in her peripheral vision, but now they were talking to Dr Yue in the hushed, churchlike environment of Intensive Care. They were standing outside the glass-panelled room where Polly was lying on a high single bed, attached to a plethora of equipment. She was heavily sedated. An intravenous drip had been inserted in her left arm. Her right armwas wrapped in gauze bandages. At some point one of the nurses had brushed her hair away from her forehead, pinning it off to one side, so that she didn’t look quite like herself.
    Dr Yue seemed highly intelligent because he wore glasses, and perhaps because he was Asian, which was racial stereotyping, but Cecilia didn’t care. She hoped that Dr Yue’s mother had been one of those pushy tiger mothers. She hoped poor Dr Yue didn’t have any other interests apart from medicine. She loved Dr Yue. She loved Dr Yue’s mother.
    But John-bloody-Paul! John-Paul didn’t seem to understand that they were speaking to God. He kept interrupting. He sounded too brusque. Rude, almost! If John-Paul offended Dr Yue, he might not try as hard for Polly. Cecilia knew that this was just a job for Dr Yue, and Polly was